


Left Handed Kisses

by Corvidology



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Fandom 5K treat, First Time, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Post-Canon, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 07:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14972084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/pseuds/Corvidology
Summary: A Fandom 5k treat for Jedibuttercup.Despite what Brock and more importantly Milt, thought about it, the revelation when it came had been a big relief to Russ.





	Left Handed Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedibuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts).



Almost from the moment he'd first met him he'd wanted to fuck up Milt Chamberlain. He'd also wanted to just plain fuck him almost as long which had confused the hell out of him. He might be a sorry asshole but he didn't have sex with people he hated. 

Later, he liked to think he'd subconsciously seen the truth about Milt under his conscious awareness that he was lying through his teeth about something if not everything. But that was later. 

Despite what Brock and more importantly Milt, thought about it, the revelation when it came had been a big relief to Russ. It had to have been hard, real hard on someone as used to being perfect as Milt was but the truth didn't make him a monster, just as fucked up as everybody else. And with that realization, as Milt bled out in Russ' arms, he'd realized he didn't want to just fuck him anymore, he wanted everything with him. Life loved to screw him over.

He'd spent hours at the hospital waiting for Milt to wake up after surgery and when he finally did, he was high as a kite. Pre-Brock Russ would have taken the opportunity to interrogate him. Post-Brock Russ was too relieved that he'd survived to even consider it. So naturally, that's when he started to spill the beans. 

"Is there anyone you want us to contact, Milt?"

"No."

"I know you didn't spring fully-formed from the ocean so you must have parents—"

"No... Yes. Of course... Mother's never forgiven me for not going into the family business."

"Modeling?"

"Diplomacy." 

He shouldn't laugh at him under the circumstances but he couldn't stop himself. "Didn't hold your fork right?"

"Always hold my fork right but I didn't care... she did. She thought police work a waste of my expensive education."

"She was right."

"No... Don't all have street smarts like you, Russ. Some of us have to go to school."

"You've met my ma, so I know it's complicated but—"

"Amelia Talbot-Wentworth."

"What about Amelia Talbot-Wentworth?"

"That's what I said." 

Nothing more about Amelia was forthcoming as Milt drifted out again. 

.

It felt good to be partnered with Font again. They had the same old fashioned approach to police work, knew the city like the back of their hand and could anticipate each other's moves. Real good. This was how things were supposed to be and he couldn't have been happier.

 

It took eight weeks for Chamberlain to make it back on to desk duty and another three weeks before he was allowed out in the field again. It took eleven weeks and a day to talk Guz into reteaming them. He always had preferred to be miserable. He'd really hoped they'd got past all the bullshit but Chamberlain was as insufferably nice and untouchable as ever.

Their first case back as a team seemed easy enough. La Tante Marie was Battle Creek's only French restaurant and they'd been robbed. 

"They couldn't have got much." 

When he glanced across at a stoplight Chamberlain had what passed for a frown on that stupidly perfect face. 

"Guz obviously doesn't trust me like she used to though I can't blame her."

Milt didn't have to know that he'd pressed Guz to give them easy cases until he was recovered to his satisfaction. "She's just concerned about you getting the time you need to recover fully."

La Tante Marie's owner, Chef Jean-Pierre's English wasn't that great but luckily Chamberlain's French was perfect so Russ just got to stare at his perfect ass—shoes while the interview was conducted. He'd never really understood before why people thought French accents were sexy but it only added to Milt's charms. 

"So how much did they get away with?" First things first. 

"Jean-Pierre says they didn't take any money though the safe was left open as usual."

"Then what are we doing here?"

"They took a chinois – that's a conical sieve—"

"I know what it is, Chamberlain." He hadn't known what it was.

"—a couple of fines herbes sachets, some foie gras and a small box of white truffles."

"Then what are we doing here?"

"The foie gras and the truffles are worth a lot more than the money he had in the safe."

He had no idea where to even start with a gourmet food heist. "Must have been one of the staff then, an inside job."

"He runs the restaurant with his wife and sons." Milt walked into the kitchen and Russ followed him. Milt slipped on latex gloves and took a closer look at the back door. "It's a simple lock. They just took a crowbar to it."

"I'm still not getting the 'why' of it. Who would you sell this stuff too anyway?"

"Got any gourmet food fences in town?"

"Not that I know of but then no one's reported liver and fungus—"

"Foie gois and truffles—"

"—stolen before. We'll have to question my _sauces_." It felt good when Milt laughed. 

They spent a fruitless two hours asking around but Russ didn't mind. At least no one had any excuse to shoot Milt again.

.

He got the call at 1:00am in the morning from the bartender at The Lambda, waking him up from where he'd fallen asleep on the couch watching _Bullitt_. 

"Hey, Russ. Got a drunk here that needs picking up."

"Call the station, Bill."

"He's got your card in his wallet."

"Pretty boy in a perfect suit?"

"Probably was a few hours ago."

"I'll be there soon as I can. Don't let him leave."

.

Nobody ever followed Russ's instructions. As he pulled up in front of the bar, Milt was leaving, one arm resting heavily across Damian's shoulders. 

"Damian."

Damian looked as unhappy as Russ felt. "C'mon, Russ. I saw him first."

"He's my partner." 

Damian leant Milt up against the doorway and backed away rapidly, heading for his car. Russ didn't feel the need to explain that he just meant 'partner' in the police sense. 

Milt was beaming at him like a kid who'd just seen his first Christmas tree. "You did it again, called me your partner."

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get you in the car before that breath of yours kills anyone." He looped an arm around Milt and practically dragged him to his car, reluctantly avoiding his grabby hands as he belted him into the passenger seat. 

As they sat at a red light he turned to look at Milt whose head was lolling forward. "What wrong turn took you to The Lambda?"

"Right turn."

He wasn't going to ask, he was just going to drive him home, pour him into bed and get back to sleep himself. "Right turn?" What the hell was Milt doing at the Lambda? Unless... "Are you here for the case? Did you get a lead on a gourmet fence? Or did you just assume all gay men are into liver and fungus?" 

"No, Russ, I don't believe all gay men love fungus... truffles."

"So you're—"

"Yes, Russ, I'm a gourmand." 

Milt was making even less sense than usual. "So you had a lead?"

He sighed and let his head fall back against the headrest. "Yes, I got the information from a waiter we talked to this afternoon, but it didn't pan out. I thought I might be on to something there but then you arrived."

If there was one thing he knew it was that Damian couldn't tell a chinois from a dunce cap. "Why didn't you ask me to come with you?"

"They might have thought we were a couple."

He knew Milt wasn't interested in him, why would he be, but it hurt to find out he didn't even want anyone to think they might be together. 

.

He'd consumed a pot of coffee at home and was pouring another cup when Milt showed up, shiny and as immaculately groomed as usual. Considering he hadn't drunk the night before and Milt had got a skin full fate was again demonstrating how some people just led charmed lives.

Milt smiled so hard at Niblet's friendly greeting that he walked straight into a desk. Russ' desk of course. Milt continued to smile as he and Niblet cleaned up everything off the floor. Russ wouldn't have minded but by the time they'd finished his desk looked the tidiest it ever had. He casually knocked one of the piles of files askew. Milt raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything about it which was deeply unsatisfactory. 

Guz opened her office door. "Got another one for you. China Garden got hit last night."

.

Of course Milt could speak Mandarin as well. He fought the urge to punch him in his smug mouth but that probably wouldn't help the case any and he couldn't quite fight down thoughts about how he really wanted to give him a swollen lip. 

"Again, no cash was taken." Milt glanced down at his phone where he'd taken his notes. 

"Notepad not good enough for you?"

"This syncs with my computer and—"

"Forget I asked. What did they take?"

"The smoker, a couple of woks and a bunch of kitchen staples. Looks like they broke open the back door with a crowbar again."

"I never caught cases like this before you came to Battle Creek."

Milt just stared him down.

"Well, not that often. What the hell is going on here?"

"We're looking for someone planning on opening a Franco-Chinese restaurant."

"We are?"

"No, Russ, we're probably not. I just thought I'd try being the one who leaps to conclusions for a change."

Cool, calm and collected was Chamberlain's thing. "I wasn't the one looking for a gourmet food fence at a gay bar."

Milt's full focus had always been a bit unnerving, cutting through even his charming veneer. It had only got more unnerving since he'd realized he wanted that focus on him all the time. 

"I wasn't either, Russ." 

Milt turned to leave and he followed him, still puzzling over what their restaurant thief might be up to next. 

.

No fingerprints, nobody hurt and no reports from any of the hock shops about kitchen supplies. This wasn't a case they were going to work round the clock which was a good thing as Holly was in town for the weekend for her cousin's wedding. 

They met at Hobson's for dinner Friday night and had a good time catching up. He laughed at her stories from school, proud of how the wider world was catching on to just how smart she was. 

He really wasn't cut out for a high class joint like Hobson's. Holly was dabbing gravy off his chin with her napkin when she suddenly started smiling at someone behind him. 

"Milt! How are you?" She stood up and threw her arms around him in an affectionate hug. Milt hugged back. 

Milt's shirt and pants were as immaculate as ever but he wasn't wearing a suit and his shirt was open at the neck. 

"Why don't you join us?" 

"I wouldn't want to interrupt your dinner. I know you don't get to visit Russ that often." 

"Nonsense." Holly was already beckoning over a waiter to get an extra chair. 

"No really, thank you, but I'm meeting someone for dinner. It's good to see you, Holly." Milt raised a hand at him and walked away towards Hobson's enclosed porch. 

Holly settled back into her chair. "Now where were we?"

"You were telling me about Mike." 

"He's a good man, you'd like him."

He was going to be investigating Mike as soon as he got back to the station.

"No need to run a background check on him, Russ, I already did and he's clean."

That was his Holly. Well, that was Holly. She'd always been the smartest person in Battle Creek.

"How about you, Russ? Anyone new in your life?"

"You set a high standard, Holly." He knew that she knew how he felt about Milt but they'd never discussed it and weren't going to start now. 

Looking back he could see the way he'd talked endlessly about how much he hated Milt pre-Brock and then continued to talk endlessly about Milt post-Brock must have tipped her off. He'd been planning on telling her the truth but Holly had been several steps ahead and spared them both by telling him she didn't want to do the long distance thing after all but hoped they could still be friends. And wonder of wonders she'd meant it. They still regularly had dinner to shoot the breeze whenever she was in town visiting family or friends. His family was fucked up and he didn't have many friends outside the department so that made it all the more special to him. He was still going to run that background check on Mike though.

"You're still going to run the background check, aren't you?"

He just grinned at her and drank more of the wine she'd picked out. 

.

They were getting ready to leave and Holly excused herself to use the rest room. When she came back to the table she looked flustered. 

"What's up?"

"I had to walk past Milt's table and for a moment there I thought you'd joined him as the man he was with looked so much like you from a distance."

 _Damian_. Damn Milt, he was trying to cut him out of the investigation again. 

Holly was staring at him. "You don't think that's... odd?"

"That's typical of Chamberlain."

What was it with everyone looking at him like he'd grown two heads? "I've settled the check. I'll drop you at your aunt's house." 

He'd have words with Milt later.

.

Turned out he'd have words with Milt sooner. The phone call woke him up at 7:00am Saturday morning. Milt sounded out of breath. 

"This better be good, Milt."

"Our thief hit the Corner bookstore downtown."

"Bookstore? What makes you think it's our perp?"

"The money was untouched again but the cookbook section was cleaned out."

He threw back the bed covers. "Give me ten minutes to grab a shower and I'll meet you there."

"I'll need twenty. I've just had a hard workout."

He didn't know Milt was that out of shape but he was probably still building his stamina up again after the shooting. 

.

The bookstore's owner didn't seem all that concerned. "We deal in secondhand books so they probably got away with less than $300 worth of stock. Could have been a lot worse if they'd broken into the first editions case but it's untouched."

He stared into the case the owner was leaning on. "You've got Hammett's The Thin Man. How much do you want for it?"

"It's not in perfect condition and it's been re-cased so we're only asking $750 for it."

"Only? It's too rich for my blood." He still stared at it for a while though as Milt got a list of the missing items from the owner. 

Outside the store they stood on the sidewalk, frustrated by how little they still had to go on. 

"What were you pumping Damian for?"

"What?" Milt gripped his phone tighter, probably worried about losing the precious lack of evidence contained within it. 

"You can't cut me out, Chamberlain. If you were onto something, we should have pumped him together."

Considering the grip he'd had on it, Milt fumbling his phone and having to make a grab for it before it could hit the ground was pretty strange. He guessed he'd have to make allowances for Milt still being in recovery. "So?"

"...I've decided if I'm staying in Battle Creek I should think about buying a place."

That made sense. Damian was an asshole but he was probably the best real estate agent in town. "Just don't turn your back on him."

"...I won't."

.

He'd like to say the next week passed in a blur but instead it dragged out, each day longer than the one before. He'd had hopes they'd catch something meatier to sink their teeth into but nothing happened to replace the dead-end case they already had. He was bored shitless but he just kept reminding himself there was no way Milt was getting shot on this one. 

He asked Milt a couple of times about what was happening with Damian – he almost choked on his coffee the first time – but he said he was still trying to work out what sort of place he wanted, a bachelor pad or something with room for a future partner. 

It made sense to him. If he were Milt Chamberlain he'd be damn sure of finding the perfect someone to complete his perfect life and live in his perfect house. She'd probably be from a perfect family, have graduated from the perfect university and have dabbled with being the world's most famously perfect model before becoming a neurosurgeon who painted masterpieces on the side instead. He was sure their perfect children would be too attractive to look at directly without burning out your retinas. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

"Slow down, Russ." 

He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and eased off the accelerator. "So where are we going?"

"I got a call from Delgado's Pawn that a man had been in there three weeks ago selling off a bunch of gourmet kitchen equipment."

"That's before we caught this case."

"Yes, Russ, I know." He particularly hated Milt's "let's be reasonable" voice. "But it still sounds like it might be some sort of lead and it's more than we have right now."

.

Delgado had just received the police flyer and had only called them because no one had ever offered him kitchen equipment before the man three weeks ago so it had stuck in his mind. 

"So what did he look like?"

"Average height, average build, average clothes."

"With that description we'll have him in custody in no time."

Milt talked right over him in his best boy scout tones. "Thank you, Mr. Delgado. Is there anything else you remember, sir?" 

Delgado puffed right up. Russ doubted if he could ever remember being called 'sir' before. 

"He was wearing a Baume & Mercier 8733 Classima XL wristwatch, I remember that."

Of course Delgado would remember the watch. "That'll be useful if we have a line-up of watches for you to identify."

"Do you happen to have his name, sir?"

"Sorry, no. We don't have any computers here. We pay in cash and the customers just get a check ticket for if they get seller's remorse."

"Did he come back, sir?"

"No and I knew he wouldn't. When you've been in this business as long as I have—"

"Thanks." He turned to Milt. "I told you this was a dead end."

Milt thanked Delgado for his help and they were turning to leave when Delgado spoke again.

"Funny thing was he kept muttering about how his wife was gonna be the death of him." 

.

He'd just come out of the 7-Eleven having picked up a six pack for the game, when he bumped into Milt and Damian coming out of China Garden. 

"Milt." He nodded. 

"Russ." Milt nodded back. 

They stood there for a moment as he shifted the six pack from one hand to the other. 

"Hi, Damian, how are you?" Damian parroted into the silence. 

Damian never had liked being ignored, so he ignored him some more. "See you've still got Damian giving you a hand, Milt."

Damian started laughing as Milt spoke. "Yes, he's still showing me houses."

Damian abruptly stopped laughing. "...We saw Holly last night."

"Shut up, Damian." Milt was now having a silent conversation with Damian, all eyebrows and hard stares. 

"Someone's going to tell him, Milt, so I might as well get to be the lucky winner. She was all over some guy outside Hobson's, Russ."

"Holly's affectionate and she's got a lot of friends."

"If she kisses all her friends that way I know why she's got so many of them."

"Then it must have been Mike."

"Mike?" Milt had turned from glaring at Damian to staring at Russ with a puzzled look on his face.

"Mike Hutchins, Holly's boyfriend of a couple of months now." He shifted the six pack back to his other hand. "The game starts soon so I'll see you tomorrow, Milt."

He glanced back once to see Milt gesturing emphatically at Damian. Strange, he'd never known him to be someone who talked with his hands before. 

.

Ten o'clock found him hammering on the door of Milt's rental apartment. It had taken him until halftime, having drunk a couple of beers to figure out exactly what was wrong with his earlier run-in with Milt and Damian. 

"Milt, you asshole, open this damn door."

The asshole opened the door. The asshole was barefoot and only wearing boxers which momentarily caused him to forget what he was there for and that just made him angrier. He stormed into the apartment brushing past Milt. 

"Good evening, Russ, why don't you come in?" Milt shut the door behind him and followed him into the living room. 

"You asshole!"

"You want a beer?"

"Yes." Milt started to move away. "No! You can't distract me that easily." With his current lack of clothing Milt easily could but he had to stay on point. "You and Damian."

Milt sat down on his couch. "There's no longer any 'me and Damian.'"

"You were with him, saw Holly kissing another man and you obviously didn't know we'd broken up. So, when were you going to tell me Holly was cheating on me?"

"She wasn't."

"I know that but you saw—"

"Holly kissing another man, yes."

"—And weren't going to tell me."

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I respect Holly enough to know there had to be a logical explanation. And it turns out there was. So that's that." Milt stood up again. "You want that beer now?"

"But you didn't tell me." He knew he sounded like a broken record but your partner was supposed to have your back. 

"No." Milt ran one hand through his gel-free hair. He must have just got out of the shower. "Look, I was going to talk to her first, alright?" 

"Alright." He sat on to the couch. Milt did have his back. "I'll take that beer now."

Milt stared at him for a moment but if he was waiting for an apology he was going to be waiting a long damn time. Milt went to get the beer. He slumped down on the couch by Russ, handing him an opened bottle and then taking a swig from his own. 

There was something still bothering him but he couldn't put his finger on it. He took another drink from the bottle. _There's no longer any 'me and Damian.'_ Fuck! How'd he missed that one? Holly staring at him like he had two heads suddenly made too much sense. He sat bolt upright and turned to face Milt. 

"You and Damian?"

"For a great detective, Russ, you're sometimes slow on the uptake."

" _You_ and Damian? But you're straight!"

"Guess that's why it didn't work out." Milt took another drink. "Not that it got very far anyway." Milt dropped his head back against the couch, exposing the long line of his throat. "You're not the only one with trust issues, Russ."

"Why him?" What he wanted to ask was why Milt hadn't picked Russ but he knew better than to ask a question when he didn't want to know the answer.

"Guess I have a type."

"He's an asshole."

"So I found out. But he was available, interested and he kind of reminded me of someone I like a lot." Milt turned his head to look at him.

For a 'great detective' he was probably leaping to the wrong conclusion but he wanted so damn badly to be right. He pointed at himself. 

Milt nodded. 

"But you thought I was completely straight."

Milt shook his head. 

"Then— Holly."

Milt nodded again. 

"Is that all you can do, nod?"

Milt shook his head again and reached for him, pulling Russ toward him so hard he spilled his beer all over himself. He would have complained about that but Milt, ever the good host, was intent on helping him out of his wet clothes and it would have been bad manners under the circumstances. 

He had his t-shirt trapped halfway up his arms, still covering his head when Milt unzipped his jeans, forced them down over his hips along with his boxers and started sucking mercilessly on his cock. Not that he was begging for mercy, just gasping for air against the wet cotton and uttering obscenities. Milt was as good at this as he was at everything else and he would have been embarrassed under different circumstances about how fast he came but he'd wanted this for too damn long and it had been months since he'd been with anyone but his own hand.

As Milt gave his spent cock a final lick and backed off to sit up alongside him again, he finally managed to get his t-shirt off over his head and throw it across the room. He looked down the long line of Milt's body where his cock was hard and sticking out of his boxers.

"So you just want me for my body."

Milt shook his head. 

"What's a man supposed to think when you take advantage of him but haven't even kissed him." 

Milt had good reflexes, he'd have to give him that and probably a lot more besides, as he swung one leg across his lap and moved in close against him, kissing him hard. He chased his own taste in Milt's mouth, working one hand between them to palm Milt's cock, his thumb brushing across the slit before jerking him off. It didn't take long for his chest to be wet again and Milt sucking his own come off Russ' nipples was enough to make his cock twitch valiantly. 

Milt slowly slid backwards, standing up and extending a hand to help pull Russ up after him. He pushed his jeans and boxers down and off and gladly followed Milt to his bedroom. 

.

When he first woke up he wasn't sure where he was but he could hear a phone ringing in the distance that abruptly stopped as it was answered. 

"Chamberlain."

He stretched out a hand to the empty but still warm side of the bed beside him. The remnant of one of Milt's silk ties was still hanging from his wrist and his body ached in all the right places. He didn't usually trust anyone to tie him down and take him before the third date at least but then Milt was his exception to everything. 

His started stroking his hardening cock, recalling Milt riding him, his muscles straining, flexing and glistening with sweat as he'd sped up, his thighs taking most of the strain, Russ doing little more than helping him balance. They should consider getting a photo of that for their Christmas card. 

"Why are you laughing, Russ?"

"It's nothing, just feeling good I guess." He threw the sheet back so Milt could see what he was doing. "Now if you'd just—"

"Sorry, you'll never know how sorry, but that was Guz. We're expected right away over at the mayor's house, some nonsense about a stolen grill."

"Not Bessie? That damn thief's gone too far this time." He stood up fast, heading for the bathroom. "Be ready to roll in ten."

.

They'd been ready to roll in thirty, but for that he blamed Milt who'd followed him into the shower. 

The mayor was pacing backwards and forwards in his back yard where heavy wheel tracks cut deep into the grass between the patio and a hole in his honor's back fence. 

"So it's true then, they got Bessie."

The mayor threw his arms around him and he patted him awkwardly on the back before pushing him back. "Don't worry, we'll get her back."

He set out across the backyard, Milt hot on his heels. 

"Bessie?"

"The mayor's pride and joy, a Napoleon Prestige Pro 825 grill. If we don't get her back, you'll have to be the one to console Funkhauser."

Milt sped up. They stepped through the fence and followed the muddy caster tracks down the sidewalk. They'd only made it two short blocks when the tracks veered off into an alley, a dark alley from which emanated the sound of a woman sobbing. 

"Might be a hostage." Milt drew his gun and he followed suit. 

They kept the guns down by their sides, they didn't want to accidentally shoot a hostage, and worked their way down opposite sides of the alley. Toward the end of an alley, in a dim pool of light cast by an old lamp over a back door, a woman sat on the filthy ground, hugging Bessie. 

"Ma'am, are you alright?" 

Milt approached her while he covered him, trying to see into the shadows behind her. 

"No, I'm not." She sobbed some more. Milt tried to help her to her feet but she wouldn't let go of Bessie. "My car's too small and I thought I could wheel it home but it weighs so much more than I'd guessed."

He put away his gun and moved to stand alongside Milt. "You're the thief we've been looking for?"

She started sobbing harder, clutching even tighter at Bessie. "It started out simply enough. A cooking show here and there, a trip to a home show cooking demo, a few lessons at the local kitchen store, Amazon orders for spices I couldn't buy locally... and the next thing I knew my husband was leaving me because I'd spent all our savings outfitting a kitchen worthy of Paul Bocuse."

"Who?"

"Legendary French chef, Russ. Go on, ma'am."

"I thought I'd be all right after my husband's intervention but I was just too far gone. I couldn't buy what I needed on the street anymore so I had to steal it." She stood up slowly, still caressing the grill. "You'll make sure she gets home OK?"

Behind them, a car screeched to a halt and Funkhauser came down the alley, gun drawn. "Bessie! Oh thank God!"

"Detective Funkhauser will see to it ma'am, you have our word."

.

It didn't take them long at the station. Mrs. Waverly gave them a full confession, insisting the Food Channel should also stand trial for preying on her at her weakest. Milt nodded, smiled and had her sign at the bottom. 

The grateful mayor got Guz to give them a day off and they spent the day fucking and ordering take out pizza to keep their strength up. He wanted to call it 'making love' like the giant sap he was rapidly turning into but Milt hadn't said or asked anything of him and he was the empathetic, eloquent one. Well, nothing but "harder, faster, deeper" and that was probably all he was ever going to ask of Russ. At least he'd enjoy it while it lasted.

They were both panting, flat on their backs on the living room floor and he was contemplating just how bad his rug burns were when Milt finally strung a sentence together. 

"I should call Damian."

"Why?" 

"You did say he was the best and I've made my decision."

He consoled himself by imagining four particularly gruesome ends for Damian by the time Milt spoke again.

"It's definitely a bigger place with room for my partner." He rolled his head to look at Russ. "Hopefully, my bachelor days are over."

That was eloquent enough for him.


End file.
